


The Embrace of a Warrior

by valis2



Category: The Mummy (1999)
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-10
Updated: 2003-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is very, very AU.  The only thing Mummy about this story is Ardeth Bay, and he has been transposed into a Druze tribe.  This story is for serious Ardeth fans!  It tells the story of a Bedouin woman who crosses paths unexpectedly with a lovely, fierce, handsome---must stop typing adjectives!!---desert warrior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** When TM first came out I wrote a lot of fanfic centering around Ardeth Bay. I wrote a lot of ficlets and started several longer pieces. Unfortunately I never finished most of them. I did end up with one short story that I reread recently and decided to share it, despite the slow waning of Mummyfic. I must mention that this is a little rough, and the historical accuracy is dubious at best. I am just going to try to simply retype it and post it here instead of revising it endlessly with snarky perfectionism, though I will probably have to edit the last chapter to bring it into an "R" rating.
> 
> **Even more warning:** This is one of the very first pieces of fanfic I ever wrote. It's basically a bodice-ripper. Read at your own peril!
> 
> **Disclaimer: ** Stephen Sommers and Universal Pictures own the character of Ardeth Bay. I do not profit from this work.

I stirred the ashes, settling the coffeepot deep into the embers to heat it. Outside of the tent I could hear the jingle of harnesses on the war-mares and the joyful exclamations of the young wives; it meant that my father had returned from his ghazu, and he would be displeased if the thick Bedouin brew was not waiting for him.

He pulled open the tent flap, scanning the interior. Beyond his silhouette I glimpsed the younger warriors celebrating, singing wildly and firing their weapons into the air. "Tuema," shouted my father, grinning wildly. "We have returned!" Letting the flap fall behind him he stood proudly, like a sheikh. As commander of the ghazu he had won prestige.

"Praise be to Allah," I murmured. What did I care for his new slaves or fancy rifles? I only wanted to be rid of him. His hand was heavy, always ready to strike. Worse yet, I was still single, though I had been of age for some time. He would not part with a single camel for my dowry; the other women in the tribe gossiped continually about this. Now I had heard that he was to sell me as a slave to the Rashid clan, and I knew my father well enough to know that it was the truth. Only the will of Allah kept me in his tent; He had made it clear. I was waiting for His sign, the omen from my dream. Once I received this, I would leave his fists and his curses behind forever.

"The Ghazu was blessed by Allah." He hooked his thumbs in his wide leather belt, his grin widening. "We struck the al-Din clan. Our revenge for their misdeeds, may their bellies split and rot! Allah charmed our swords and guided our rifles; we lost very few." His grin increased. "And I have a new slave!"

I was immediately alarmed. The al-Din clan had been our sworn enemies for more years than there were grains of sand. Even the women were like vipers, dangerous, poisonous, treasonous. "You---you took an Al-Din slave?"

"No, no," he said smugly.

Though it was an awful breach of etiquette, I blurted out, "Then---who?" She must be a rare beauty for him to be bragging of her to me, for I barely ranked above a slave. I calmed myself, folding my hands in my lap. At least she would distract him from me for some time at least, and Allah would do the rest. My father called out to my uncle to bring in the slave.

It took three men to grapple the stranger into the tent, though his hands were bound. Even in the poor light my eyes were overwhelmed. He was tall, dark haired, dark eyed, and easily the most handsome man I had ever seen.

His hair was not wound into the six braids of a Bedouin. Instead it hung free and wild to his shoulders in a mass of inky dark waves. His clothing, though torn and bloodstained now, had at one time been of a fine cut and material. Remnants of a silk sash still hung about his hips; the remainder bound his wrists, and his lean, supple fingers were clenched in anger. He bared gleaming white teeth in a snarl, his goatee in stark contrast, framing full lips. His bronzed cheeks bore dark stubble; my father must have ambushed him relatively close to our camp, explaining the exuberant battle fever of his warriors.

My father still watched me, smirking, waiting for some reaction. It was then that I realized that the darkened areas on his high cheekbones were not bruises. They were indigo tattoos. "Druze," I breathed in amazement, and my father leaned back his head and laughed with delight. "How---how---" I was thunderstruck. The Druze territory was twenty camel-rides to the North, and they rarely ventured out of their lands. Rumors of their legendary fighting skills circulated everywhere; they'd been one of the few tribes to successfully defend their homelands from the Turkish invaders.

"Does it matter?" gloated my father. "I have taken a Druze slave. Even the sheikh cannot claim this."

The slave glared at him, his mahogany eyes black with rage. "It is only because you leapt upon us in the dead of night that you succeeded," he said coldly. "We had wounded, and yet you attacked. Coward."

I held my breath, fully expecting my father to strike this man for speaking so disrespectfully. But my father only laughed at him. I exhaled slowly. This slave would not be a permanent addition to the household. The other warriors would torture him for sport and leave him to an ignoble death; a man such as this could never be an obedient slave or humble servant. His skin was pale beneath the bronze luster; bruises and cuts marred his elegant appearance. Doubtless he had not seen food or water since his capture; I was certain he had been forced to walk to the camp, despite his condition. I felt a pang of sympathy for this darkly handsome stranger. His would be a sorrowful end. Though it was improper of me, I could not help but drink in his beauty, partially hidden though it was by sand and dried blood. My gaze took in the high cheekbones, wandering to the knotted cords in his neck.

Then I saw the pendant nestled in the hollow of his throat.

I had to clench my hands and bite the inside of my cheek not to cry out aloud. Surely Allah could not mean this man to be my omen, the sign that spelled my freedom. But the dark carved stone that lay across the stranger's chest was the very one from my dream, and I was overwhelmed with hopelessness. Had Allah entwined my future with this man's, which was so cursed?

My uncle and the Druze were locked in a stare, a battle of wills, and I began to fear that he would simply kill him where he stood. I prayed silently for the tempers to cool, for reason to prevail.


	2. Chapter 2

It was fortunate that the coffee chose that precise moment to boil. My uncle looked at the pot, watching me as I poured the thick brew into a silver cup, breaking the deadly contest. My father grimaced as he crossed the tent to take the cup into his own hands. He drank only a sip or two before handing it back. "Tie him there," he directed curtly. My uncle and the other two warriors obeyed immediately; as commander of the ghazu he was in charge of any prisoners taken. I could not watch as they untied the stranger's hands and bound him against one of the tent poles, retying his wrists behind it. I was certain that he still glared at them. The strength of his frame was as clearly visible as if I was next to him. The thought of the power in those darkly tanned hands almost made me shiver. My mind seethed. Why had this man been chosen as my sign? Why had Allah made him the bearer of my omen? Perhaps I could convince my father to give the pendant to me---no, not when he could trade it for silver. Perhaps I could steal it from the slave---but suppose he cried out---

My father dismissed the warriors. My uncle lingered for a moment, still watching the stranger.

"What do you wait for, Ibrahim?" said my father irritably. "Hafasa misses you, I am certain."

"He is strong and cunning," murmured Ibrahim. "Perhaps I will check the knots one more time." With expert fingers he carefully tested the bonds as the Druze stared dispassionately at him. Ibrahim straightened and returned the gaze. "For the murder of my son," whispered the older man with venom, "you will die like the ill-gotten son of a pig that you are." I sucked in a breath. So this man had killed my cousin, Ibrahim's only son. My heart leapt---he had been well-known for his cruelty, and I had been the recipient more times than I cared to remember. With a ferocity that made me wince Ibrahim punched the dark-haired stranger, who doubled over as far as his bonds would allow, grunting in pain.

"Until tomorrow," said Ibrahim, bowing stiffly to my father and walking out of the ten, a single glance back at the Druze promising much more pain.

My father doused most of the small oil lamps and prepared to sleep, even though I could still hear the younger warriors celebrating outside. He settled his old bones onto the sleeping pallet, mumbling a prayer to Allah. The harsh ride of a ghazu taxed even the strongest.

The coffee I poured for myself was strong. I could not help looking at the stranger. He had straightened up, leaning his head back against the pole, his eyes closed, a faint grimace still visible on his lips. The pendant rose and fell with his ragged breathing, and I was transfixed by it. The rough carving, the black sheen of it, brought back the dream-vision and the immense voice of the angel with eyes of fire that had shown it to me. Before I even finished drinking the bitter liquid I made up my mind. I would leave tonight. It would be as Allah willed. The pendant would lead me away from my father's tent forever.

The measured breathing assured me of my father's slumber, and I doused the only remaining lamp, leaving the fire pit to illuminate the tent's interior. Rising, I went outside to unsaddle my father's camel, as would be expected; most of the warriors were now entertaining their women, glad to have them back after the long absence. Making sure that no eyes were watching, I loosened the ties at the back of the tent to make my later departure easier. I brought my father's heavy saddle in with his gear. With a light touch I ascertained that my father was truly asleep, and set about packing as clandestinely as possible. Once I finished my preparations I laid down to wait for the proper time. I thought I could feel the stranger's eyes upon me.

Once the celebrations had faded away into silence I rose quickly and pulled the packs to the back of the tent. I was ready to steal away into the cold night, to follow the will of Allah. Then my thoughts recalled the pendant. I looked across the tent to his long, lean form, and I was suddenly seized with worry. I had to follow the pendant---I could not leave it behind. I unsheathed my khanjar and walked around to face him. His eyes snapped open and I was afraid he would call out. I swiftly covered his mouth with my hand, feeling the prickle of stubble beneath my fingers, his warm lips upon my palm, his eyes boring into my own. With my other hand---still holding the dagger---I pantomimed that he should be quiet, and he nodded once, fiercely. Taking my hand away was difficult---I was very afraid that he would shout and wake my father.

What to do? If I stole the pendant he would wake the camp; likewise if I attempted to gag him. How was I to follow the pendant? I bit my lip in frustration.

His dark, expressive eyes were watching me with veiled hope, and I again felt sympathy for him, for what they would do to him tomorrow, and suddenly I count not bear to think of him humbled and degraded. His face, so exquisite, silently begged me. Still I hesitated. This would be worse, far worse than simply running away. I could still try to gag him---


	3. Chapter 3

His eyes pierced mine, and my soul felt the breath of mercy stirring within it. I sawed at the coarse rope, freeing his raw wrists. His knees buckled, and I grabbed his arm, alarmed. If he could not walk---if I was found freeing him---

He stood, using the tent pole for support. His hands were shaking. I shouldered another heavy camel saddle-bag and motioned to him to follow me. Lifting the back of the tent, we stepped through, and I retied the laces to the stakes. I used a long camel hair brush to obscure our tracks, and the brisk night wind helped to further obliterate them. I chose two camels out of my father's herd and slung the saddlebags and two well worn saddles across them. I did not dare take the racing-camels or the ornamental saddles; it would be even more cause for pursuit. I helped the stranger mount the pack-camel, giving him an old blanket and my spare kuffiyah. Once his camel had risen to its feet I gave it a switch to set it walking along with my own. I thought again of my father. He might not have even bothered looking for me, had I not taken the slave. I walked behind the two camels, erasing our tracks until we had crossed the far dune. There I mounted, hoping to make the best of our head start. I was about to urge the camels into a faster pace when he reached out, catching my arm.

"Thank you," he said ferverently in his rich baritone. His hand seemed to burn through the cloth of my tunic.

I nodded, unable to meet his beautiful eyes. "We must be away," I said softly. "Someone might notice soon."

"I must know your name."

"Tuema."

"I am Ardeth Bay." His face was lit by the faint stirrings of dawn. With a start I recognized the name; it came from the legendary chieftains of the Druze. "Why did you free me?" His grip on my arm tightened.

I was nervous, eager to be away, but I could see that he had to know. "Allah sent me a dream," I said, deciding to tell him the truth. "I was waiting for the sign to leave. When I saw your pendant, I knew that it was time." I allowed myself to look directly at him, the high, sculpted cheekbones, the sable eyelashes, the full, sensual lips. "We---we must be going. If they catch us---"

He nodded, releasing my arm and wincing suddenly in pain. I wondered if he would make it to the next oasis. "You are brave, to follow your vision," he murmured.

"There is no will but Allah's," I replied quietly. Then we were galloping into the desert, away from my father.

* * *

I knew that we needed to stop and rest. Ardeth was clinging to the saddle, wearied beyond belief. He had almost fallen more than once; he needed to rest. The sun was low in the sky, and I stopped in the shade of a dune. I dismounted first and helped him down from his camel, giving him a waterskin and a provisions bag as I tended to the camels. He ate slowly, his movements stiff, and I felt shame for my father's mistreatment of him. My camel nuzzled my arm affectionately, and I stroked her nose and murmured kindly to her before sitting in the sand next to Ardeth. Reaching out, I drew the waterskin to myself and took a spare mouthful to clean the taste of dust out of my mouth. I ate a little of the bread and cheese, staring off in the direction that we had ridden from. Now that I was away and the rush of bravery had left me I realized how tenuous my position really was. If my father or his warriors found me it would be terrible. I was alone with a man. A Bedouin girl learns early to value her honor more than her life, and mine was now in question; my father had the legal right and the moral imperative to kill me immediately if he found me. My head felt oppressed by these thoughts. I fingered the khanjar at my side and tried to make myself feel brave again. Allah had led me away a He had promised. I must trust in Him.

Eventually I realized that his eyes were upon me, and I hoped that he could not see the color rise in my cheeks. "You are unafraid to be here, alone with an enemy of your tribe," he said.

My hand tightened upon my khanjar, but then I felt foolish. He could not possibly wish me harm. "I, too, am their enemy."

He looked surprised. "Were you---his slave?"

"His daughter," I said bitterly.

His eyes widened. "You are the daughter of that---that vile man?"

"Yes." I let me eyes stray from his exquisite face, turning them back to the burning sands. "He would not give me my dowry; he was to sell me to the al-Rashid clan."

He made a derisive noise. "And so his own wickedness leads to his undoing. Allah's will is just, indeed."

We sat in silence for a moment or two. I could still feel him watching me, his gaze hotter than the shimmer on the dunes. As of yet I could see no signs of pursuit, but I was afraid still. I turned back to the waterskin, taking another spare sip, and he raked a hand through the unruly mass of black hair that curled about his shoulders, catching my attention. "Your hair---it is so short," I marveled. In truth, I had never seen anyone, save the very young, with their hair unbound and cropped like his.

"No, we do not braid ours," he said distractedly, still staring at me.

"You have come here from a long distance."

He nodded. "We live to the North, at the feet of the mountains. We were searching the Red Desert."

I knew the endless, trackless waste that was the Red Desert; it was close to our camp, though we rarely entered it. "My warriors---we were searching for a plant. The samh---"

"The samh? Indeed, it does grow in the Bsatya---but there has been no rain there in many years. You would not have found it."

"It does not matter now," he said, his mouth twisting into a wry, bitter grin. "My blood brother Faris was ill, dying, and the plant might have cured him. But your father's ghazu found us, and killed all but myself."

I lowered my eyes, again ashamed. "He is an evil man. May Allah see fit to awaken him to his sins and seek forgiveness for the wrongs he has committed." I straightened my kuffiyah, grimacing at the thought of my father and how close the riders could be to us. "Where will you go?"

"Where will you?" he returned.

"Mnahi," I replied. "After that, only Allah can tell."

"He did not show you the way in your dream?"

"He only showed me the pendant. He told me that it would lead me away from my father."

"It seems my capture was destined." His expression was unreadable.

"I---" I was suddenly filled with horror, that men would die so that I would be free. "No one can know the will of Allah," I said quietly.

He remained silent, and I stood up, crossing the hot sand to check the saddles and resecure the provisions and waterskins. I pulled a camel hair blanket out of each saddlebag, the better to protect us against the biting night wind that was already rising. He was not any steadier on the camel than he had been before, and I knew that I he must rest as soon as possible.

He guided his camel close. "Why do you travel to Mnahi?"

"It is out of the way. The others are too well-travelled."

"Your father may guess that you will travel this way."

My hand tightened on the reins. "That I do not know. I had hoped that he would assume that I was riding to my mother's people." The sun glowed orange on the horizon. "Do you know of another way?"

Only his shining dark eyes were visible in the indigo of the kuffiyah. "There is another oasis towards the North."

"That would take us into the Red Desert."

"Certainly he would not expect this."

The sunset turned everything a fiery red, shimmering and rippling about us. Allah had given me the pendant, freed me from my father. I must trust in His will, and trust that Ardeth was honorable. "I will follow," I said finally.

I knew that he smiled under the kuffiyah because his eyes reflected it, though briefly. Turning his camel northward we plunged into the bleak night landscape.


	4. Chapter 4

I could not sleep well. One of the nights I dreamt that my father had caught us and cut my throat, leaving me to die in the sand as he turned to kill Ardeth as well. I could do nothing. When I awoke it was some time before I could convince myself that I was far away. It became more and more difficult to even close my eyes as we crossed the Red Desert. Ibrahim was an expert tracker, and Ardeth had killed his son. The more I thought on it the more convinced I was that my uncle would not rest until revenge had been forced upon the Druze. Every noise unsettled me.

We had been in the Red Desert for eight days now. I sat in the saddle, dazed, the heat pounding upon me in waves. He stood in the sand, surveying the arid waste we were in, reading the desert to ascertain our location. I refused to give in to the feeling of despair that lurked just under my thoughts. We could not be lost; it was obvious that we were traveling north, and he seemed so certain of himself. The only thing he seemed to not know was the exact location of the small oasis, and so we wandered, exhausted, rapidly running out of supplies. In territory closer to my tribe I could have collected from rainwater pools, or secret reservoirs; here in the tortured lands I could do nothing but try to stay on the camel, forever looking over my shoulder for Ibrahim. Even the camels were grumbling, as there was little foraging for them, and we were driving them hard, scarcely pausing for rest.

He remounted his camel with grace. He was beginning to regain his strength, and I could see how truly fierce a warrior he was. Every motion he made was like poetry; the stiffness that had plagued him was almost entirely gone. We spoke little in the dry heat of the day, but at night, or when we made a rare encampment, he regaled me with fascinating stories of the Druze, safe in their retreats at the base of the mountains. I was sad that I had so few stories to add, but my own were tales of woe, ill-suited for our camp.

"The oasis is very close," he said, relieved.

"Praise be to Allah," I replied with feeling. I was worn down from the constant worry and the perpetual riding.

He echoed my thanks and led us over the next rise. Again I breathed to Allah, for I could see scrubby plants growing tenuously in the rocky soil. The oasis was small, ringed with green; I could see how it had been so difficult to find. Had we ridden a few feet too far in either direction we would have gone right past it. I dismounted, my legs aching and stiff as I half-staggered to the water. I filled the skins, allowing myself to drink more than I normally would have.

"Perhaps we could camp here," he said. He looked at me questioningly. It made me uneasy, the way he asked for my opinion; it was not a woman's place to give one. I looked around. The oasis seemed unknown. There was little to suggest that it was frequently used; the shifting red sand would make tracking difficult as well. I felt a little of the anxiety recede. "The camels need to forage..." I ventured.

He nodded and turned to his, unsaddling it. I followed suit, though I was bone-weary. My brain was dull form lack of sleep. I unpacked some necessities from the saddlebags, setting my saddle up next to a few rocks that could serve as a firepit. I cleared it out while he found fuel, and once the sunset had finally sank under the horizon we had a small, smokeless fire going. I was able to bake small, flat pieces of bread across the iron cooking plate that I had brought. Together with oil, cheese, and dried figs, it made for a satisfying meal. Leaning back against my saddle I could not ever remember feeling so happy. The stars filled the sky utterly. My sleep heart composed a silent exclamation of thanks to Allah, and I watched the moon begin its slow ascent.

His rich voice broke the immense stillness that had wrapped around the oasis. "There has been no rain here for some time."

"Bsatya has not been blessed with a true rainfall in eight years," I replied, wrapping myself deeper into my camelskin blanket. Already the chill night had crept into the air.

"Have you ever seen the samh bloom?" he asked. His voice seemed far away.

"Only once," I answered. "We gathered the berries, and made dough---you must eat it with honey, it is very sour."

He fell silent, and I somehow knew that he was thinking of his lost blood-brother Faris. A pang of guilt crept up, but I tried to dismiss it. I could not be answerable for my father's actions. He had chosen his own cruel path.

How odd it felt now to be without my own path. Always I had kept myself pointed towards 'the escape'; I found it hard to believe that I was adrift, at the mercy of a dark stranger in the desert, no more subject to my father. Which direction would I follow? Where could I go? The stars were as limitless and unfathomable as my own future. I had spent years preparing for the moment of my departure, and now I was past it, and my course was unclear. It was impossible to live alone in the desert. I had to find a tribe to take me in.

I had always assumed I would join my mother's people, but this stranger had appeared, and my tentative plans were upset. Because I had so foolishly brought him with me I had made my disappearance cause for a far larger search than if I had left on my own. And, far worse, my traitorous heart continually murmured an ever-growing desire to stay with him, though my mind understood that it was impossible. He was a chieftain's son, after all; I was the daughter of the man who had murdered his blood-brother, and I came from a tiny worthless clan. My tired thoughts wound round and round this track until I realized I was nodding off. Standing up, I yawned deeply and dragged my feet to the small tent, tossing aside my kuffiyah and pulling off my camel-hide boots. The night was cold, and I wriggled down into the blankets, wishing I had brought more with me. I yawned again.

He entered the tent, having removed his own headcloth and boots, and suddenly I found myself quite awake. So far he had acted with all honor, but we had not rested much, and I had been so consumed in our pursuers that I had given only scant thought to the danger inherent in being alone with him in the desert. My whole body tensed as he sank down into the blankets next to me. I could hear him breathing, could smell his masculine scent. The night wind rose and howled outside, and I shivered involuntarily.

He moved closer, and I tried to resist the urge to move farther away. "You are cold," he murmured, his warm breath moving across my ear. His lean body was next to mine, radiating heat. "Sleep now," he whispered, and a few strands of his hair stirred against the back of my neck. One strong arm found its way across my hip and locked protectively around my waist, pulling me even closer. I tensed, afraid; as a Bedouin woman I should have drawn my khanjar and placed it between us.

He sighed deeply and relaxed against me, and I forced myself to quell the rising anxiety. No man could want me, as I had passed the age of betrothal; the best I could hope for in any tribe that took me in would be to become a servant. It was the life I already knew, and this way I would at least retain some of my scant freedom. Perhaps I could work for a family in his tribe. The thought was interesting. But would I be able to see him every day and not be affected by his tall, graceful presence? Could I truly be satisfied with seeing him and not wanting more?

My weariness returned threefold, and I gave myself up to it, held fast in his embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

I slept for a very long time in a dark and dreamless world. When I finally awoke the sun had already traversed a long way; I emerged from the tent, yawning widely, to find him standing, staring pensively off into the distance, the long lines of his body emanating power. His arms were crossed and he did not look my way as I foraged through the saddle bags for my other set of clothing. I changed and sat down within the tent, quickly absorbing myself in the lengthy task of pulling my waistlength hair out of its six braids and combing it. My fingers worked slowly, the camel bone comb waiting on the rug.

Unexpectedly he entered the small tent and sat down, watching silently. As my fingers struggled with a particularly stubborn knot he suddenly took the comb and commenced to untangle it himself, ignoring my protests. His long fingered hands moved through my hair with such care that I simply succumbed to the sensual pleasure of the delicate pull on my scalp. He was exceedingly gently, letting his hands entwine themselves and rebraid the locks into an unfamiliar single braid. Each movement sent tiny frissons of pleasure through my body. No one had ever been so kind to me before. I felt embarrassed.

"You are very different," he said softly once he had finished the braid. "I have never met any like you."

I opened my eyes, but I was afraid to turn around. "What do you mean?" The sun blazed upon the open sands.

He was silent for a moment, and I tensed, expecting ill. "You are so strong," he said finally. "We have ridden for days in the heat at a pace that would humble even the best of my warriors. Yet you stay in the saddle without complaint...you endure...you trust in Allah and free a stranger, taking him into the desert, away from all you have known, though it means your death if you are found. You are honest, courageous, brave...Your eyes are as dark as the night..." His voice trailed off.

I sat, quietly stunned. Did he mean these things? These fine words, I felt unworthy of them. His hand was on my shoulder, pulling me around, and I could not help myself, I had to look into his eyes, his soft mahogany eyes that stared at me with such intensity that for a moment I could not draw breath.

"Tuema," he said, his voice tight with emotion. He made as if to rise but suddenly leaned forward and caught my lips in his own. I was frightened, but his free hand gently caressed my cheek as he kissed me deeply, his mouth warm and moist against my own. His hand tightened on my shoulder and then he abruptly ended the kiss, his eyes searching my face.

I sat, frozen. I had seen women killed for less, for a rumor that they had entertained a warrior in his tent late at night. He seemed to sense the struggling feelings within me, because he pulled away and left the tent. I could still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder; the hot pressure of his lips lingered. My hands were shivering with the intensity of the desire and the fear inside me. Unsteadily I would my kuffiyah about my head and began taking the tent down.

He helped me resaddle the camels in silence, the hot sun upon us both. Once we were mounted, he looked at me, unveiling his face. Though his expression was unreadable, his eyes were like liquid onyx, filled with an emotion I was unready to identify.

"Where will you go now?" he asked quietly, maneuvering his camel so close to mine that our knees almost touched.

It was the question I dreaded. "I---I do not know."

"Will you travel with me?" His eyes, so close, pleaded with me.

I fell silent. To travel alone was dangerous. To travel farther with him was even more so. I closed my eyes, blotting out the sight of his elegant tanned face, and listened to the stillness of the desert. My treacherous heart urged me to stay by his side. I prayed to Allah and that was when I remembered the amulet. If this was where it led, then I must push down my childish wishes and follow. A lifetime of servitude to the Druze was better than a single day of slavery with al-Rashid. I thanked Allah for his mercy. "Yes," I said, opening my eyes and drinking in the sight of his grin.

"Twelve more camel rides to my father's camp," he said, his grin widening. "And then I can show you my full appreciation for saving my life. I owe you a blood-debt." He replaced the veil of his kuffiyah and swung his camel's nose northward.

I was lucky that my own kuffiyah hid my expression. How could he claim me, a woman, as his blood-brother? This was not possible. Even though the Druze were different, they surely would not stoop so low. I was little better than a slave, ill-suited to have someone so fine indebted to me. Allah preserve me, I whispered. Keep my path clear. I ask for so little; a warm bed, food, time to rest. For this I shall work, gratefully, and spend the rest of my energy in Your service.


	6. Chapter 6

The days passed swiftly, and I was relieved that he made no other move towards me. I relegated the kiss to a chance occurrence; as chieftain's son he no doubt took whomever he wanted, and was used to such liberties. It hurt to think it, though.

He seemed content to spend the days covering as much sand as the camels would allow, and the evenings telling stories. Sometimes he asked me small, innocuous questions about my clan and my life; he compared our ways with the Druze, and there were many differences. The Druze were followers not only of Allah but of other religions as well, religions I'd never known. They were learned, educated, and their camps were more or less permanent.

"I could teach you to read," he said one night.

For a moment I closed my eyes and savored the thought. To read the Koran! To know, for myself, what Allah had said to His people through His prophet, Muhammed! But that was blasphemous. "No, no," I said sadly. "It is forbidden."

He raised an eyebrow. "Forbidden? You were not allowed to read?"

"There is only the Koran to read," I said firmly, "and no woman may touch this, by Muhammed's command."

He sat still, absorbing this. Finally he met my eyes again. "There are other books than the Koran."

I flushed, embarrassed, hoping that he didn't think me so primitive as to believe that there was only one book in the world. "I---yes, but---"

"Books are where we record the wisdom of the ages," he said, the firelight reflecting on his face; he looked like a golden djinn. "We must keep them, and learn from them, else we repeat the errors made by our ancestors."

I made no reply.

At night I slept as far from his body as the small tent would allow.

* * *

On the twelfth day we entered the foothills of the great mountains. Ardeth had grown in strength and vigor with each step towards his homeland. He seemed to radiate joy. He was restored to his people, and it was clear that they loved him. The camel and sheep-herders on the outskirts of the camp all knew him, and approached to hear his sad tale; all mourned the loss of Faris and the other warriors. Ardeth would not linger long, though; he meant to reach his father's settlement, and continued at a steady pace, my camel following a little behind, hanging back respectfully whenever someone hailed him.

When we finally entered the camp I was amazed at how large it was. People were everywhere, milling about, all trying to claim Ardeth's attention. I could see their fondness for him. Despite his tattered clothing and begrimed experience he radiated the subtle power and surety of a man born to rule. I watched from a distance as he told those assembled his woeful tale, and I grieved again at my father's shameful ambush in the dead of night, attacking a wounded man and slaughtering the other warriors as they staggered out of their tents. The murders weighed upon me. Many of the women began to wail and shake their fists, cursing my father and his clan forever, surprising me with their outspoken tirades. Some of the men brandished well-worn guns, shouting for revenge. The few near me were grim, murmuring to themselves.

My camel was nervous at the sound and sight of so many unfamiliar people, and I dismounted wearily, stroking her nose. I spoke softly to her. I was so tired and overwhelmed myself that I sympathized with the poor beast. One of the men standing next to me looked at me with open hostility. "Who are you?" he asked brusquely, though it was the worst of manners to question a guest so. Though I myself had to wonder whether I could even be considered a guest. Judging by my appearance, I did not look worth of such.

"Tuema al-Rahi," I answered unthinkingly.

His face blanched, the look of horror upon him as he asked, "You? It was your clan that killed Faris?"

I had unwittingly given my clan name, but even so I would not avoid the guilt that my father had brought upon our name. "Yes. It was my father who was commander of the ghazu."

His face transformed suddenly into that of a man possessed, and he leapt upon me so fast that I had no time to react. It was all I could do to raise my arms against the hail of blows as my back was crushed into the rocky ground. The man's curses were unintelligible. I was aware of a fierce shout, and suddenly the beating stopped and a hand gripped my arm, pulling me to my feet. Ardeth's harsh glare was upon the older man, who was being restrained by two of his fellows.

"This woman is not the source of your anger," he said, his voice deadly. He towered over the man who had struck me. "She should be thanked."

"She is the daughter of a godless son of a whore!" spat the man.

Ardeth brought the full fury of his gaze upon him, and the man averted his eyes. "She saved my life. She freed me from the tent of her father. She has crossed the desert with me for twenty camel rides. My father will wish to thank her for all she has done, for the great risk she has taken."

Voices murmured around us, and I forced myself to look at the man, to meet his gaze with a strength I did not feel. His eyes held mine and then dropped. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "Faris was my only son."

"I pray for you," I said quietly. "I can only hope that Allah will see fit to open my father to remorse for the evil that he has done." My head was buzzing, and I blinked heavily. Things were blurry.

The man nodded, moving away, grief-stricken.

Ardeth pulled me close, looking deeply into my eyes. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

I was embarrassed by his attention. "I am well," I answered softly. I wished that I had not followed him into his camp, that I had turned and gone some easier way, somewhere I would not feel the weight of so many eyes upon me. Faces surrounded me, pressing inwards, colors were beginning to leech away---

He must have seen this, because suddenly he was shouldering his way past everyone, pulling me along after him. We came to a large tent and he thrust aside the flap. I glimpsed a rich profusion of rugs and tapestries before the flap closed again, cutting off the light and laving us in cool dark. His hand steered me, laying me down onto a bed made soft with thick furs.


	7. Chapter 7

"Your heart is fluttering like a bird's," he said gently. "You must rest." He was leaning next to me. "I am sorry for Abr's behavior. Doubtless he thought you my capture, brought back for revenge." My eyes were adjusting to the dark, and I could make out a grimace on his fine features. "None will treat you so again. You have my word."

"You cannot mean to promise a thing like that," I said faintly. "It is only in the hands of Allah."

"Inshallah, whomsoever harms you in any way will answer to me dearly," he said in a voice that would brook no argument, the voice of a chieftain's son. "I owe you my life. You are under my protection."

The tent slowly stopped spinning, and my breathing relaxed. "But if I leave, you will not be able to---protect me."

Even in the gloom of the tent I could see that he was upset at my words. "I would follow, Beloved. It is Allah's will---we are united together by the blood-debt." He reached out a long-fingered hand and traced the edge of my cheek. "But if I can convince you to stay, I will," he added softly, his eyes boring into m own.

Beloved---he had called me Beloved---

"I must see my father," he said, letting his hand fall to his side. Standing, his gaze lingered. "Rest now, and think of the life you could make here, with me by your side." He left the tent, and I covered my face with my hands, exhilaration and fright filling me in equal measure. To think of him, by my side, loving me---it was too much, it was so much more than I could believe. I did not deserve any of him.

Allah had shown me the pendant, and led me to the son of a Druze chieftain, given me a bed to rest upon, and the finest man I had ever known to call me Beloved. Never had I seen his equal. The best warrior in my father's camp was like the stone under Ardeth's foot.

I was torn in two. I desired to be next to him, to be safe from my father, and yet I desired to turn, to flee into the desert and forget him, forget his dark eyes and strong hands. Could he really feel love for me, for the ignorant daughter of a murdering fiend? Did he truly feel love---could it be merely gratitude, misinterpreted? My thoughts roiled about, and I closed my eyes, trying to shut them out. My heart shook as I thought of how he would react to the knowledge that I had been dishonored at the hands of my uncle's son. No, he would not want me, he could not possibly be with a woman who was so defiled. I was exhausted, past my limits, out of strength. I succumbed to sleep, letting the last of my worries fall away.

The dream began innocently enough. I walked across the desert with bare feet. I had no kuffiyah, only a trader's robe, no camel, wineskin, or provisions, yet this did not bother me. The air stirred, brushing against my unbound hair.

This desert was sterile, devoid of life. No plants graced the sands; no birds wheeled above; everything was quiet, still, mute. Only the wind possessed vitality; it seemed to whisper in my ear as I walked, heedless of direction.

The sun grew hotter and hotter, and I looked at it without flinching. It was silent in the sky, brilliant, powerful, mesmerizing. I gazed at it without pain or discomfort as it blazed.

From nowhere formed huge, pounding words. The words of Allah. The words of my Lord. They were simple, precise. There was a strange noise, like bees humming, and suddenly a vision swam before me, showing the Druze settlement in its entirety.

I awoke, confused. What would be waiting for me there? What did Allah have in store for me? I had seen this boulder when we rode into the encampment. It had not seemed remarkable to me in any way, except size.

Even more frightening was the idea that Allah was turning me away from the Druze, or, even worse, Ardeth. Suddenly I did not want to leave, I did not want to leave this man and this bed, I did not want to leave this beautiful fantasy that I was experiencing, no matter how short it might linger.

But I sat up, feeling the change in the air as the day gave way to dusk. The tent was empty save for myself and I knew that there would be no better time than now to find this stone. My heart grew heavy at the possibility of leaving Ardeth behind, but I consigned myself to Allah's will, for He was much wiser in the ways of us than we were ourselves.

Ducking out of the tent, I was relieved to find that very few people were near. Doubtless the camel-mothers were returning for the night, and their care was paramount. The rest were presumably busy with the evening meal. I stole away into the rapidly dimming dusk and traversed the hill.

The stone stood, illuminated by the fiery orange full moon that had risen, impassively shedding its light over the rocky landscape. I leaned upon the boulder, feeling the leftover warmth from the sun, a silent and powerful force. The vast stillness was reassuring. I no longer feared my father's wrath; it felt as if I was finally beyond his reach. My life was my own. My course was open.

The night air had grown cold, and I shivered, wishing I had brought a blanket with me. I could not return now, though; I must wait for whatever sign Allah sought fit to bless me with. I would wait for my omen. My life was in His hands.


	8. Chapter 8

I heard someone approach, and I turned to see Ardeth, his form illuminated by the ghostly light of the moon. He came closer and I could see his dark, fathomless eyes. For a second time he was my sign from Allah, and my heart was suddenly so full that I could not speak.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, his face concerned.

"I---dreamt, Allah sent me---" I was dismayed to think how I looked; I was dressed only in a light robe, my face and hands begrimed from the long journey.

"You dreamt of the Standing Stone?"

"Yes," I whispered, shivering.

"And you left immediately to find it." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

"I did not wish to delay Allah's will."

"I thought you had gone," he said, suddenly reaching out and drawing me close into his arms. "Then I saw you walking up the hill."

His embrace was warm, his hands holding me with the utmost gentleness, and I was sorry that I had worried him. "Please forgive me," I said softly.

"There is nothing to forgive." His fingers stroked the back of my neck, and I pressed closer, driving out the cold. "Beloved, stay with me always," he murmured.

My heart shook in my chest. Here, the thing I feared, the thing I wanted; I trembled with emotion.

"What is it?" he asked, his hand moving to my chin, bringing my eyes to his. The moonlight glanced across his face, and I could not deny the passion that I saw there.

"You are the chieftain's son," I said plainly. "I am no one. I have nothing to give you. I have no dowry save myself."

"That is worth more to me than all the wealth of Egypt," he said. "I have spoken nothing less than the truth to you. I wish for the same from you. Do you not desire me, as a woman desires a man? This is the only thing that matters."

His eyes pierced mine. "I have said only truth to you as well," I said evenly. To be with him I would have to risk it all, and I prepared myself. "And I will speak more truth now. I have no money, no dowry, and my clan is small and worthless. They enslaved you, and killed your blood-brother."

"Be that as it may, it does not lessen what I feel for you." His fingers rested on my cheek lightly before reaching down to take my hand in his.

"You must hear all of the truth before you continue," I said pulling my hand away. I knew that what I had to say would cause him to spurn me, but I had to say it. I could not leave it between us, poisoning us slowly. I drew a steady breath and fixed his eyes with my own. "I have been taken by a man before." To the Bedouin a woman is nothing without her honor. No man would take spoiled goods.

Ardeth looked at me in shock. "You have lain with a man?"

"He forced himself upon me." I felt my heart turn to ash, and I looked away. "He made me swear never to tell, and he cut me to remind me of this." Tears rose in my eyes, and I desperately blinked them away. He would surely loathe me now, and I would need to keep my wits about me to leave the camp."

He caught my hands in his, holding them in a ferocious grip. "Look at me."

I was afraid to see what would be in his eyes, but I looked up.

"Where is this man now?" His voice was so terrible and deadly that I was frightened.

"He is dead. You killed him. He was my uncle's son." I watched as the rage subsided in his face.

"Had I known what he had done to you, I would have made his death a thousandfold more painful," he said grimly.

"Now you see why I must go," I said sadly. "You are the chieftain's son. There can be nothing---"

"Tuema," he interrupted. "The son of a chieftain---this means nothing. Do you understand?"

"You are important."

"As are you." His grip tightened. "I will rule, inshallah. But Chieftain---this does not concern me. You concern me." His eyes were like twin stars in the night, dragging me inexorably closer. "I do not wish for a woman with a rich dowry. I do not wish for a woman with fine clothes or unparalleled beauty. What I wish for is a woman who rides a camel for days. I wish for a woman who walks barefoot in the desert. I wish for a woman so brave that she defies all she haas known to free a stranger from an ignoble fate. I wish for a woman who will give up all she has won to follow Allah's will to a barren waste in the middle of the night. I wish for you, Beloved, and yours is the only voice that whispers in my heart."

My eyes blurred with unshed tears. "I am---I am not...whole for you."

He drew me into the circle of his arms, his hands wrapping themselves around my body. "This does not matter to me," he murmured in my ear, "excepting the harm that was done to you." His voice grew harsh. "May Allah see fit to torture his black soul for all eternity for the hurt he has done to you."

The tears spilled over. This was so much more than I had a right to receive.

"Beloved, stay with me always," he whispered.

With one word my destiny could break free and fulfill Allah's command. "Yes," I breathed. My heart could sing in joy. Finally I would find happiness.

His hand moved to my cheek. I looked, and his eyes were bright. The light of the moon illuminated his face, revealing his true heart's desire, and I was swallowed by joy a thousand times to discover that it was me. His lips found mine, and the intensity of his kiss stole my breath away.

"You are shivering," he said softly. "We should return to my tent." Taking my hand into his own, he began to lead me back to the camp. Turning to gaze upon me, he smiled, and I found that I could smile in return, all of the fear and worry that had lain so heavily upon my soul finally lifting.

"You are not wearing shoes," he exclaimed, dismayed. In one fluid motion he picked me up, carrying me down the hill. The exhilaration of the moment ebbed, leaving me fatigued in its wake. I barely was aware of being set down upon furs, his warm lips pressed against my forehead, the feel of his body next to mine as I drifted off into the endless tracks of dream.


	9. Chapter 9

I awoke, disoriented. It was already light outside---I had overslept---my father would beat me---I sat up, panicking, ready to fly into action.

Suddenly the past day's events came rushing back to me. I was overwhelmed once more at the incredible fate that Allah had seen fit to bestow upon me. I closed my eyes, praying silently from my heart. When I reopened them I looked around the tent, and when my eyes caught the sight of Ardeth, I nearly cried out in shock.

He sat, relaxed, leaning against a richly adorned saddle, and he was clad not in the shredded remnants that he had worn on our journey, but instead in a set of fresh black robes. He was clean, his hair combed out and free of dust, falling to his shoulders in a mass of ebony. His mahogany eyes danced; his sensual lips were curved in a small smile amid his neatly trimmed sable goatee. A golden handled scimitar hung from his belt along with a long fringed sash; his feet and calves were encased in a pair of fine leather boots.

"You are awake at last, Beloved," he said, standing up and approaching me. He took my hand in his own, gently kissing it, and his eyes met mine, sending hot sparks through them. "There is food, and fresh clothing. And water, should you wish to bathe. I must speak with my father, but I will return soon." With that he gave my hand one last kiss before he strode across the tent, his black robes swirling, the broad set of his shoulders disappearing through the tent flap.

I sat still for a moment, look around in awe at the finery, the utter luxury of his tent. I had once seen the inside of the shiekh's tent at my camp---in the camp of my father, that was; it was a crude hovel compared to this. Richly embroidered pillows, thick rugs, elaborately detailed lamps...it was as if some djinn had dropped me into the Sultan's palace. I was almost afraid to touch anything, fearing that it would vanish beneath my begrimed fingers. And the chance to wash---it was the most decadent thing I could ever envision. It had always been said that the mountain tribes were rich with water, and now I was seeing it with my very eyes. I approached the large basin, and after taking one careful look around, I disrobed, leaving the filthy, oft-mended garments in a shodden heap. The water was lukewarm, smelling faintly of sweet almonds, and I began to scrub, eager to remove the layers of dust.

Feeling human again, and hungry, I unfolded the robes he had left for me, and was awed. Black, like his, finely woven with tiny silver threads, a shimmering belt made of tiny coins for my waist, a veil so sheer it was nearly transparent. I had never worn anything so beautiful. My eyes welled up with tears as I dressed reverently. The feel of such intricately woven fabric against my flesh---it was exquisite.

I looked at a large silver platter, using it to inspect myself. All that was left now was my hair, still drying; with the aid of a heavy golden comb I succeeded in untangling it, but I did wish for my own comb. I left it loose and unbound, something only a wife can do. I wished to show him the depth of my commitment.

I ate sparingly of the food heaped on a dish, trying not to overtax myself after having gone so long with so little. There were so many delicacies, so many fine exotic foods; I was afraid to sample them all, and instead sat closer to the firepit. The bejeweled saddles were all so obviously costly that I dared not lean against one. I pulled the veil to my face, tucking it behind my ear, and tried to be still, but it was difficult. Always in the tent of my father I was busy, gathering water, caring for the camels, cleaning and cooking. I tried to calm myself, to slow the beating of my heart, to sit peacefully; it did not make a difference. My mind was like an agitated panther, lunging and pacing, unbelieving of what it had found.

The tent flap was thrust aside, and he entered, so beautiful that my heart constricted within my chest. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled. "Already you look Druze," he murmured. His gaze wandered to my long hair, curling under the veil, and he looked surprised. Grinning, he crossed the tent to my side, kissing me passionately. My knees weakened at the feel of him against me, the strong masculine scent of him, the hot pressure of his lips stealing my soul away---the little corner of it left that he did not possess already. He withdrew slightly, his dark eyes looking down into my own, a long-fingered hand stealing up to caress my cheek gently. "Beloved," he said softly.

I leaned forward, kissing him delicately, tasting the sweetness, the lushness of his soft lips. He answered hungrily, gripping me against him tightly, shaking with the intensity of his need. He shifted suddenly and picked me up, carrying me to his bed, where he laid me down and looked at me, devouring the sight of me. I shivered at the sight of those liquid, feral eyes---

I remembered another suddenly, the pain, and the blood, and I was frightened. I took a calming breath and pushed such thoughts out of my mind. This man was Ardeth, and I had crossed the Red Desert to be at his side, I had stolen him away from the tent of my father, I had received him from the outstretched hand of Allah and His infinite mercy.

He must have seen the emotions on my face, because he hesitated for a long moment, and said, "I understand---that you are fearful. The act of love has only been painful to you. I will---I must wait, and let you become more comfortable---"

I could see in his eyes how much he desired me, and I wished him to know that I was his equal in this. "Beloved," I said, and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him again ardently. "You are not that man," I said softly. "He is dead now, and it was many years ago. I have not been touched since." Putting my lips almost to his ear, I whispered, "And I desire you, as a woman desires a man."


	10. Chapter 10

He trembled visibly, and I felt a surge of pleasure at how much he wanted me. I would give him this, this that he desired, the pleasure of my body; Allah knew how it ruled men. The pain would be nothing compared to the joy it would afford him. "All you know of love is too harsh," he said when he had regained his composure. "You do not know---you have not felt the pleasure of it. I will go slow, and instruct you in its delights." His eyes met mine, and I felt warmth rise to my cheeks from the exquisite longing that was displayed in his face.

His gaze roamed, taking in the swell of my chest under the black robes. He leaned forward, kissing me again, and his hands roved over my body, gently stroking. He began to loosen the sash at my waist, drawing it away from me. Without breaking the kiss he began to slide the robe aside. The cool air of the ten stirred across my exposed skin until his hot hands found their way onto my flesh. With the utmost gentleness he began to caress me, his fingertips carefully unfastening the undergarments that I wore. Gently he pulled away from our kiss and lightly nipped the side of my neck, drawing his mouth farther down, kissing my collarbone. His hands gently massaged my breasts, stirring an unfamiliar feeling within me. When his warm, moist mouth descended onto my nipple I cried out weakly at the hot flash of desire that coursed through my body. I wove my hands into the silken masses of his hair as he delicately pleasured me with his tongue, each delicate flick sending a lightning bolt of energy through my spine. He moved to the other, nibbling and teasing me into a frenzy.

Gently he disengaged himself, lying next to me, his talented lips tasting my earlobe as his fingers continued to caress my breasts knowingly. His hot breath on my neck, the rough feel of his calloused fingertips against me---so many sensations warred within me. A moan escaped my lips.

Eventually he leaned back, surveying me through the long lashes that fringed his mahogany eyes. "You are so very beautiful," he murmured, his hand straying further down across the skin of my belly. He lay there for some time, watching me while his hand moved closer and closer to the drawstring of my undergarments. He untied them and I found myself holding my breath as he slowly slipped his hand underneath, entwining his fingers in the silky curls there, rubbing them and feeling them with care. He moved inexorably downward, a single rough fingertip finding suddenly the place where the lightning seemed to gather, the sensitive nub of all my desire, and I moaned in pleasure at his touch, closing my eyes. His hot mouth found my nipple, closing and sealing itself around it while his tongue gently flicked, sending shudders of desire down my spine. His fingers explored further, delicately stroking the wetness between my thighs, slowly, tortuously caressing me until I felt an intense tingling begin to take hold. I arched my back, and I could not help moaning as his skilled fingers traced lazy unbearable patterns.

Gently he withdrew his hand through the curls, now damp; kissing my breasts, he rose up on his knees, looking down upon me. I was flushed with the heat of my desire, the blush of passion spread across my skin. His hands took ahold of my undergarments and gently began to slide them off my body and his dark presence above me only highlighted the contrast between my now complete nakedness and him, still completely clad in his black robes, still wearing the heavy polished boots. Placing his knees on either side of my own, he pressed himself against me, kissing me deeply, the hot crush of the coarse fabric against my skin, his tongue penetrating my mouth, his hands shifting behind me, almost lifting me into him. I could feel the hard length of his manhood, but it did not frighten me now; the need was too great. It would be different with this man, this lion of a man.

Again he backed off, staring at my body with hot, unfeigned passion. His mouth kissed my collarbone, working its way down slowly, and I was mystified at first, until he gently breathed in the fragrance of my dark, short curls. He slipped one hand underneath me, gently holding and he wrapped the other around my thigh, carefully spreading apart my legs until the whole of my femininity was his to gaze upon. Never had I felt this naked, this vulnerable; the scratch of his beard pressed against my inner thigh.

When his tongue found the secret nub of my desire I cried out. The incredible feel of his hot lips against me was unbearable. The intense tingle returned threefold, rendering me speechless with overwhelming pleasure. He stroked and suckled hungrily, his arm locked around my thigh like a band of iron, his other bringing me closer to those inescapable lips, their hot, sensual fullness arousing me so that I thought I would die. My hips bucked, and suddenly I was unable to breathe, caught in a moment wherein all was rendered molten, the whole of my world caught and trapped in a single blinding moment of pure pleasure. I closed my eyes and gave myself wholly to the unbearable delight of his mouth.

I laid still, feeling drained by the intense feelings I had just held. I listened to the whisper of his silk sash being unknotted, the soft noise of his own robes falling to the floor; then there was the sudden electrifying feeling of his naked, hot flesh against my own. I opened my eyes to see his own piercing me with their characteristic intensity. At his touch my body reacted, desiring to know the sensation anew. His deft fingers began to reawaken my passion. I entwined my hands in the dark nest of his hair, then trailed my fingers down the back of his neck delicately, causing him to pause and shiver. He shifted, moving on top of me, the sensual scent of his masculinity exciting me. I could feel the hot length of his manhood against me. I could feel the hot length of his manhood against me, throbbing, and I parted my legs, slowly wrapping them around his muscular body. He began to rub himself against me, laying the tip directly upon what he had so thoroughly explored with his tongue, and I moaned as the tingle began to build and build, the honey of my excitement making us both slick. When I could not stand it any longer he laid himself at the gate, gently, inexorably pushing. I relaxed against him, trying to draw him in, and he groaned in pleasure when I used my legs to take him in further. We were sealed together, and he filled me wholly, his dark hair damp, the perspiration standing out in tiny beads on his bronze lustered skin, his eyes closed in rapture. Gently he began to move in and out, his concentration fierce, his teeth bared. I moved against him, gently rocking my hips. With a savage growl he laid himself against me, locking himself to me, his arms around my back, thrusting into me wildly, his face buried in my hair, his arms hold me tightly to him, incredible heat radiating from his body. The tingle exploded within me, and I cried out in pleasure, willing him deeper within me, feeling the ravenous power of his hunger for me. He drew back suddenly, unable to cry out, his face caught in an expression of intense pleasure, and then he laid back on top of me, spent, his chest heaving, saying my name raggedly.

Reluctantly he withdrew from me, rolling to one side and locking one arm around my waist protectively, as he had done so many nights ago in the lonely tent in the Bsatya. His eyes watched me with such ardent feeling that I was moved.

"To the end of our days, I am yours," he said fervently, sealing this vow with a gentle kiss.


End file.
